Chapter Three
Brooklyn
My day was off to a stellar start. If stellar meant that everything had gone wrong from the minute I woke up. I’d poured the last cup of milk over my cereal, only to find it chunky and expired. Finn then let me know he’d switched to almond milk “forever ago” and I should, too, because of fill-in-the-blank health reasons—I tuned him out because I was groggy and still mourning my cereal, healthy bland kind or not. After his spiel, I gave one of my own about how I’d rather not drink nut milk, and then we’d both broken into laughter because we were super mature.
The laughter died pretty quickly when he told me he didn’t have a caffeinated substance of any kind in the place.
Deciding I’d have to rely on a shower to wake me up, I’d zombie shuffled to the bathroom. In the light of day, the room was…well, I’d forgotten how vastly different my definition of clean was compared to what I used to refer to as “guy clean.” Trey was a neat freak, thus the “used to” but suffice it to say that Finn’s version of clean had me wishing for dimmer lighting. Or, like, hazard gear.
When I’d decided to stay with Finn to save money, I’d been thinking of all the fun and laughing, not the fact that there’d be pee on the toilet seat that was forever left up, and that I’d have to settle for a chalky protein shake instead of my usual bowl of Froot Loops. I’m going to have to hit the grocery during all my non-existent free time today.
Sure, it was first-world-problems stuff, but memories from the past had also kept me up half the night, and thinking of everything I needed to do today didn’t improve my mood. Unfortunately, time away didn’t magically make it easy to be around Dad, either.
I pulled my car into a parking spot behind the gym. Okay, I committed to doing this, so I need to just suck it up and deal.
Figuring I might as well look fabulous while I was doing said sucking it up and dealing, I twisted my rearview mirror so I could apply my favorite fuchsia lipstick.
And promptly dropped the wand.
It hit my thigh, leaving a smear of pink as tribute to my awesome coordination skills, before bouncing off the console and landing somewhere in the passenger seat vicinity.
I leaned over and ran my hand over the floor, praying the expensive liquid wouldn’t pour out and stain my upholstery. It was the kind that lasted all day, too, which I loved for my lips but not so much for my car. It’s never going to come out of the fabric. All day probably translates to ten car-stain years.
“Jeez, buy me dinner first,” I said to my gear shifter, which had made itself at home between my boobs. Evidently, I was going to have to get out of the car and go around to find it. I stretched across the passenger seat to unlock that door, then sat up and shot my reflection a dirty look. My bottom lip was hot pink, making my top one look super pale in comparison.
I rounded my car, and when a quick glance didn’t reveal my lipstick, I dropped to my knees on the warm tarmac of the parking lot. Using the flashlight option on my phone, I illuminated the space underneath the seat.
“How’d you get so far back there?” I asked my lipstick, because apparently this day had already reached crazy-lady-who-talks-to-herself levels. I thought about opening the hatchback and going that way, but I was already sprawled out here, and if I could just stretch a little farther…
“Got you, you bastard.” I shifted myself into reverse, but a tug on my scalp made me freeze in place. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I braced my hand on the top of the door and tried to tug again but couldn’t slide free. With a few contortionist-type moves, I managed to get my lipstick upright on the console, then I reached up to remove the clump of hair that’d caught on the wires under the seat.
“Having some trouble?”
The deep voice made me jump, and naturally, my head whacked the underside of the seat. If I hadn’t looked at the calendar this morning, I’d swear it was Monday, shitty Monday. “I’m fine.”
“Yes, yes you are. Don’t get me wrong, I could stand out here all day, watching your ass bob up and down, but I’m starting to feel sorry for you, and that just takes all the fun out of it.”
If I could shoot the guy a dirty look, I would. And that was still in the plans, I just had to free myself without leaving behind a bald patch. Finally, the last few strands came free and I sat back on my heels.
A large hand came into view, and I hesitated a moment before taking it. He pulled me to my feet, and I quickly let go and took a step back, trying to regain my bearings.
The guy who’d been doing striking drills in the cage yesterday stood across from me, an amused smile on his ridiculously handsome face.
My what nice eyes you have. Seemed appropriate to compare him to the Big Bad Wolf, considering the predatory look in his green eyes and wolfish grin, the better to short-circuit my brain with. I hadn’t gotten a good glimpse at much besides his torso and those jacked arms, so I’d missed details like his nearly-black hair worn short but slightly messy on top, the scruff dusting his jaw, and green eyes framed by dark eyebrows that arched as I finished my ocular pat down.
Realizing I was staring and way too close, and what the hell am I doing, I have a boyfriend, I went to take another step back. My car’s side mirror jabbed into my hip and I swore, which only added more amusement to his expression.
I rubbed the spot, even though that had never worked very well at easing pain. “I’m having an off day, okay?”
“Okay.” He jerked his chin toward my car. “Nice wheels, by the way.”
Despite the fact that it’d held me captive for a few minutes, I patted the turquoise hood of my 1967 Ford Mustang. “Thanks. He’s my baby.”
“Oh, it’s a he, is it?”
“For sure. He growls and acts real tough, but if I don’t give him the right fuel, or it’s been too long since I’ve taken him for a ride, he gets all whiney about it.”
Sexy Fighter Dude ran a couple of fingers over his nice mouth—so sue me, I noticed—and his laughter came out low. The swirl in my stomach was because I missed my boyfriend.
And maybe just a smidge because the guy standing across from me was crazy hot. Luckily I knew that in the long run, that wasn’t what was important. Fighters were moody and self-involved, completely aware of their hotness and often used that to charm their way into getting whatever they wanted, and being with them was like volunteering for a rollercoaster ride that dropped you off a cliff at the end. I wanted a steady guy who’d be there for me when I needed him, one who I could trust with my heart.
I had that with Trey, the guy who’d been my constant for nearly a year, so I was shutting down my unruly thoughts about the guy standing across from me ASAP.
“It sounds to me like you’re not getting enough satisfaction during the ride.” His smooth, deep voice rumbled through me, like the bass line of a song, and my pulse picked up the beat. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to go very long without insisting he take you for another spin.”
Heat settled in my cheeks, but I did my best to appear unaffected—I wished I was. Evidently, I was going to have to up my defenses when it came to Fighter Dude, strike the sexy. “I’m not sure this conversation is going in a very appropriate direction.”
“You started it,” he said, a gleam in his eye that made me feel too hot all over.
Come to think of it, I was sure that was mostly the sun. There wasn’t any fog to keep things cool here, like in San Francisco, where I had a kind, considerate boyfriend.
Time to shut this down, hard. With guys of the cocky variety, I’d found it was best not to leave any wiggle room. “Well, this is me finishing it. It won’t happen again.”
He took a step closer, and awareness pricked my skin. “Okay, next time I’ll start it.”
I put a hand out, my palm flat against his annoyingly firm chest, and pushed away the memory of the way the word “satisfaction” had rolled off his tongue and awakened something in me that needed to go back to sleep. “Obviously, I wasn’t clear. I have a boyfriend. I was just making a stupid joke, and I’m sorry if you took it the wrong way. I wasn’t flirting with you, and it certainly wasn’t an invitation.”
He looked down at me, not moving out of my space. Then he pressed his lips together. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best.”
Irritation crept in. I wanted to ask what he meant by that, but he’d just take it and run us in circles, so I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction—which was apparently the keyword of the day. “Okay, then. I’m sure you’ve got some training to do, and I need to get to work myself.”
“Right. I’ll see you inside…” He raised his eyebrows, a question in the curve. “I know it’s Roth, and I’m fine by calling you that if you want, but—”
“It’s Brooklyn. Now, off you go.” I made a shooing motion and took another step back, my butt hitting my car door. It moved, giving under my weight for a second before it met the frame. Of course, in that second I’d waved my arms and no doubt made a stupid face, so add that to the awesomeness of my day. I steadied myself against the door and let out a shallow exhale. Just keep it together for a few more seconds and then you can go back to being a hot mess.
“You don’t want my name?” Fighter Dude asked.
I lifted my chin. “I’ll learn it sooner or later, but I’m not in any big hurry.”
“Cold,” he said, throwing a hand to his chest. He didn’t look hurt, just smug. “I’ll see you later then, Brooklyn.” He backpedaled a few steps, his eyes still on mine. “By the way, I think you just locked your keys in the car.”
I whipped around, and sure enough, the keys were dangling from the ignition. Both doors were locked, too. I probably did the driver’s side out of habit. Since my car was older, with no fancy fob to engage the locks all at once, I had to be vigilant at manually pressing them down—I’d forgotten a few times in high school, and the lectures from my brothers were lengthy. Now that I thought about it, I vaguely remembered feeling the one on the passenger door going down when I’d braced my hand there in an attempt to free myself from the seat. Then my stupid butt had gone and shut the door.
“Too bad you don’t know my name, because then you could ask me for help.”
“I’m perfectly capable of calling a locksmith,” I said through clenched teeth. Or I would be if I had my phone, which was locked in my car. I moved closer, as though I could dial through telekinesis, and the window was nice enough to reflect my image back at me. One crazy section of hair stuck up from its fight with the wires and my lips were still two different colors.
Did I mention I was having a bad day?